A Round In The Thigh
by Pidraya
Summary: Jenny gets shot. The op - and its fallout - in the Czech Republic. 1998.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:**

"_This reminds me of our op in the former Czech Republic."_

"_You took a round in the thigh."_

"_I had the same bad feeling before that op, too."_

_** - Undercovers**_, Season Three.

The continuity department must have been napping the day that scene was filmed, because in 1992 Czechoslovakia split into The Czech Republic and The Slovak Republic.

There is no such thing as the _former_ Czech Republic.

* * *

_**Outskirts of Babice, The Czech Republic**_

_**October 19th, 1998**_

It came as a shock that she was bristling, and she hated the fact that Decker's words were reverberating in her head.

_Don't let him hold you back._

Jethro wasn't doing anything of the kind, and yet all of a sudden one of the things she admired most about him wasn't that attractive anymore.

He simply stuck to his gut - and in the process dismissed everybody else's.

Including hers.

He was haunted by people without definition and she knew, just by the way his eyes lost their warmth when the subject came up, that he would pursue the Russian sniper until he ran him to ground. He wasn't just bordering on obsession, he'd fallen over the edge. As he had on countless other occasions when pursuing suspects in the field.

She looked around her and shivered; as much from the cold as from the acknowledgement that she was taking things personally.

And the fear that this meant she was in over her head with him; that being with him might mean losing her individual sense of self.

Something she couldn't afford.

She looked around again and something about the stillness unnerved her all over again. She couldn't explain it, not to him and not to herself, but something wasn't right here. They'd been dropped off a few miles away, and the agreement was that they'd be picked up in seventy-two hours. They had the keys to a house in the village and would be doing surveillance from the observation post Gibbs was building.

In pairs.

Twelve hour shifts.

Unease rippled through her again. Admittedly it would make no sense attracting attention to themselves by having a car in a village with a population of three hundred, but the idea of being stranded in the middle of nowhere if things went south wasn't particularly appealing either.

She was pulled from her thoughts by murmurs to her left.

Callen and Pacci were watching Gibbs.

He lay on his stomach, moving forward inches at a time. Keeping low to the ground – almost as though he were crawling under barbed wire. Seeking out depressions in the ground, apparently, and pausing every now and then. It looked as though he was tasting and smelling the air. She stared at him in fascination, and it took her a few moments to realise that he was evaluating their position.

Looking for the perfect spot to construct what she could only assume was going to be a sniper's hide.

For a moment she was glad she was pairing up with Pacci, because such a construction would barely be big enough for two people, and twelve hours was a long time to be cooped up with someone you could barely stop touching.

They were at the stage now where they couldn't get enough of each other. Especially after the last night they'd spent together. Their lovemaking came in fits and starts wherever they could fit it in. It was fresh and new; desperate, urgent and highly gratifying.

She tried not to think about how long the next seventy-two hours were going to be.

Gibbs nodded to himself; content with the place he'd deemed fit for their observation post.

Setting up listening devices or cameras inside the buildings was out of the question. There was, however, only one entrance to the abandoned farm, and the low light video and still cameras they had brought would have to be enough. The exchange wasn't supposed to take place till the following night. They had a twenty-four hour advantage – which he intended to make the most of. Once he was done with the vegetation cover, nobody would know they were there. He looked around for suitable materials, and his eye fell on his team.

All standing about looking at him in awe.

"Pacci, Shepard," he growled. "Go make sure there are no surprises out there."

The farmhouse was little more than a pile of rubble, but a barn across from it was still in fairly decent shape.

"Beef or dairy?" Pacci asked as they ducked in and out of stalls.

"We haven't see any milking equipment," Jen replied as she walked back outside, "but it's been abandoned for a long time, so maybe they had a man-"

She stopped when she realised that Pacci wasn't listening.

In fact Pacci was nowhere to be seen. She had just about retraced her steps when he appeared at the barn door. She smiled as he fell into step beside her, but as they rounded a corner, the crunch of footsteps brought the blistering realization that they had run across someone who wasn't expecting company.

There was, however, no turning back.

No time to think, and certainly nowhere to hide as the man in question raised his weapon.

Gibbs had just finished assembling foliage when the crack of gunshot rang out. He reached the barn to find Pacci leaning over a young man who couldn't have been a day over eighteen.

"What happened?" he asked.

The light was fading fast, but even in the dimness he could see the adrenaline coursing through both of his agents.

"He came out of nowhere," Pacci said. Reliving the moment the man had crumpled to the ground from a round to his chest. "Jen took the shot."

Gibbs's eyes ran over her once, and he nodded sharply at her before addressing Callen.

"Get the camera."

The young agent nodded and headed off to retrieve the equipment, but he'd barely been gone a few minutes when the sounds of a car coming up the winding drive floated towards them on the air. Gibbs tightened his grip on his weapon and cursed under his breath as he made his way to the edge of the building.

Face offs rarely ended well.

"Vassily?" the new arrival queried.

He sounded unsure as he looked him up and down, and Callen didn't miss a beat.

"Da."

Whoever this man was he hadn't known who to expect, and Callen wasted no time in assuming the dead man's identity.

"Any problems?" the stranger asked warily as he looked around.

Everything was far from being okay, but this man didn't need to know that.

"Yes, everything is under control," Callen replied in flawless Russian.

Seemingly satisfied and clearly eager to leave, the man nodded and put away his gun. He pulled a small package from his car and walked over to the dilapidated farmhouse. When he had ensconced the package in the rubble, he turned back to Callen and pulled a wad of notes from his pocket.

"We'll stick with the original plan," he said as he handed the money over to him. Mumbling something else as he turned away.

Gibbs let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as the car drove off. He reholstered his weapon and nodded approvingly at Callen as the young agent joined them again.

"Did you get that?" Callen asked as he handed over an evidence bag.

"They're picking up as scheduled tomorrow. Vassily must have been keeping an eye on the place."

"Yeah," Gibbs said with another nod. "Get the plates?"

Callen nodded as he started to take photos. "I think I can do a sketch of him, too."

"Good."

Gibbs patted down the man known as Vassily. Removing his watch as well as the gold chain around his neck. Checking him for distinguishing marks as best he could while keeping an eye on Jenny. She picked up the pistol Vassily had dropped and stared at it for a moment, but there was no guilt in her demeanour. Nothing to indicate that she'd done anything but look out for herself and Pacci in an untenable situation. He saw rugged determination as she bagged the gun, and for the moment he was satisfied. No doubt he would hear the details later, but their priority now was to make Vassily disappear and get back to the task at hand.

"Jen?"

Pacci's voice had an edge to it, and made Gibbs' head snap up.

His eyes fell on the evidence bag that she'd passed to their colleague, and widened slightly as he took in the red smear. His blood ran cold as he realised what the look of grim determination on her face really was, and looking at her more closely he could see the pain etched into her features as she focused on bagging something else.

He had her by the elbow in two paces.

"Did you get hit?"

She looked up at him, her lower lip firmly compressed between her teeth, and nodded.

"When _exactly_ were you planning on telling me?" he said as an irrational spate of anger rushed through him. "How bad is it?" he growled as she looked away.

"Not too bad," she said. Although from the way she spoke he knew she was lying.

"_Where?_" he demanded.

There was just enough light left for him to see the blood seeping through the fingers clamped over her thigh.

Even in the dim light, the emotions running across his face were a sight to behold.

Frustration, irritation, and concern all rolled into one.

She stopped him just as he was reaching for the satellite phone at his waist.

"There's no need to jeopardise the op," she said, as she placed a hand on his. Feeling him tense under her fingers.

"We don't have a choice anymore, Jen," he snapped.

"Yes we _do_. You were in the Corps, Jethro. I'm sure you've seen your fair share of battle wounds, and dealt with more than a few. This is no big deal. It hasn't hit the bone or I wouldn't be standing, and it hasn't ruptured any blood vessels or I'd be bleeding to death by now. I can feel it under the skin. _Here_ ..."

She pulled his hand onto her thigh, and sure enough he could feel it too.

"Don't call off the op," she repeated carefully. "Even if I'm laid up, the three of you can still do the surveillance. We have the basic first aid kit."

He considered what she was saying. She was right, he had extracted bullets from fellow marines in the field. Had even pulled one from himself once. But they'd been men - and although he had no intention of sharing that particular bias, he couldn't ignore it either.

He shook his head as he reached for the phone.

"This could be the break we've been waiting for," she said urgently as her hand closed over his again.

_She would use that to make her argument_, he thought as he struggled to make a decision.

In the privacy afforded by darkness she squeezed his hand gently.

"Jen .." He wasn't sure she understood the pain she would feel if he took a knife to her, and even less sure that he was capable of inflicting it on her.

"I trust you," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

_**An hour later …**_

Gibbs heard the gentle _snick _of the door closing behind Callen as he made his way around the house looking for necessary supplies. Every passing moment brought them closer to the time when he'd have to cut her open, and the prospect had his stomach in knots.

He made himself focus on the fact that so far things had moved without a hitch.

At least in relative terms.

They'd made their way back to the house in the village shrouded in darkness. They'd had no choice but to use the bandages in the first aid kit to put pressure on the wound and staunch the flow of blood. He hadn't liked leaving Pacci out there alone, but there had been no choice. He'd needed help to get Jen through the two mile trek back to the house in the village. She'd put an arm around each of their shoulders and walked most of the way, despite the pain she was in, and it wasn't till the last quarter mile or so that he'd ignored her protests and carried her the rest of the way.

She hadn't been nearly as vociferous as she had been the first time he'd offered, and his only response had been for her to save her strength. Her head had flopped against his shoulder and she hadn't said another word. Callen had been surprised when he'd ordered him right back to the farm, but the look in Jen's eyes told him it had been the right call.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was going to be ugly. She didn't want more of an audience than absolutely necessary.

He walked into the bedroom and found her staring up at the ceiling, the underlying sheet tightly bunched up in her fingers, and found himself hoping that she was having second thoughts.

"Jen?"

"I'm fine." There was no other possible answer. "Is that for the instruments of torture?" she asked as he placed a small table by the side of the bed. When he gave her a tight smile she added, "I'm ready, Jethro."

He nodded and left the room.

As he padded back into the kitchen he did a mental check of the items he'd collected; acknowledging reluctantly that he had everything and that there was no reason to delay the inevitable. He pulled a glass from one of the cupboards and poured a healthy amount of clear liquid from a bottle he'd found under the sink. He wondered briefly why the people who had used the house before them had left a perfectly good bottle of Schnapps behind. Perhaps they'd forgotten it, he thought as he dipped his tongue into it. He blinked. Eighty proof at the very least. 40% alcohol. Considering Jenny hardly drank, was petite, and had lost so much blood, the concoction would go to her head in minutes; hopefully taking the edge off the procedure.

It was the best they could hope for in the absence of anaesthetic, he thought to himself as he added some bourbon from his flask with a wry smile.

"Down in one," he said as he walked back into the bedroom and handed over the glass.

Jen looked suspiciously at the glass before doing as she was told.

Or at least tried to.

"What is this?" she asked as she spat it out. "_Paint thinner_?"

"Down in one, Jen," Gibbs called over his shoulder as he walked away.

He could feel himself dragging his feet as he walked between kitchen and bedroom. The warm soapy water sloshed against the sides of the basin – threatening to spill over - and he was far from happy about the fact that he was going to have to use a candle to sterilize the knife.

"Jethro?" she asked when he finally settled on a chair next to the bed.

"Yeah," he asked as he drew a pair of gloves from the first aid kit and inspected them. They weren't sterile, and despite the avid brushing he'd given his hands there was no guarantee that he'd extricated all the dirt from under his nails.

"I think I'm drunk."

Her eyes were glittering in spite of the pain. Or perhaps because of it. He really couldn't tell.

"Ya think?"

"I feel like singing. Does that mean I'm drunk?"

He shot her a smile of patient amusement.

"Sing away," he said as he reached for the scissors and cut the bandage open.

She sucked in a shallow breath as he pried it from her body.

He eyed her with concern, and she nodded as they watched the blood start to trickle from the wound.

"I can't carry a tune," she said seriously.

"Neither can I."

"_I'm too sexy for my pants._"

Gibbs grinned, but the grin faded fast as looked at her thigh.

It had swollen considerably in the past hour – leaving him no choice but to cut her jeans off her.

"Well that sucks," she pouted as he put the scraps aside "They would have had character. Like drinking something that a fly has fallen into, or taking a bite of apple and finding half a worm. That happened to me once. When I was six. I bit into an apple and found half a worm and realised I had the other half in my mouth. Worms taste really bad, Jethro. I don't know what birds see in them."

"You can keep them as a souvenir."

"Speaking of souvenirs, want to see one of yours?"

He watched her hands tremble as she started to undo the buttons on her shirt.

"Jen .." he said as he stretched out to stop her. "We don't have to do this. I'm still in time to call Decker and get us the hell out of here."

She seemed to sober up instantly.

"I can do this," she said. "_We_ can do this."

"Once I start there's no going back."

"I know."

Jen watched as he reached for the basin of soapy water. He was meticulous as he cleaned the area, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. He was second-guessing his decision to go along with this, and she knew the moment she saw his hand hovering indecisively over the candle that he had balked.

"Jethro ..." She patted a spot on the bed.

"You okay?" His eyes ran anxiously over her.

"As well as can be expected. The question is, how are _you_?"

A small shudder ran through him.

He didn't like role reversal.

Didn't like that she could read him this way.

She winced as she pushed herself towards him, but the hand that caressed his cheek was steady.

"I'm not afraid."

For the life of him he couldn't tell if she was lying, and he was sufficiently distracted by the soft kiss she placed to his lips not to realise immediately what her other hand was up to.

"Jen .." he started the moment he realised that she was fumbling with his belt.

"It's either this or the soles of your shoes, Jethro. And although I have nothing against the smell of your feet I think I'd rather bite down on your belt, if you don't mind."

She pressed another kiss to his mouth, and wasn't surprised when his hand cupped her face and his returning kiss bordered on fierce.

"I do have one thing to say, Jethro," she said as he helped her slide down onto her back.

"What's that?"

"When I'm better we're doing sniper role play!"

If the situation hadn't been so serious he would have snorted. As it was all he could do was make a mental note to give her what she wanted when the time was right.

He struck a match and lit the candle.

"Ah .. gotta love rule number nine," Jen said as she watched him place his knife into the flame.

She swallowed compulsively as the smell of sulphur permeated the room, and suddenly she wasn't feeling so brave anymore. But Jethro was already under immense pressure. There was no way she was going to let him know that she was scared witless.

Gibbs palpated the wound. Very conscious of the fact that the bullet which had been so easily identifiable earlier was now now lost in a sea of swollen tissue.

He probed gently, trying to find the right location.

When he did he closed his eyes – and hesitated.

"_Just do it, Jethro_," Jen hissed as the twirled the ends of the belt round her hand and prepared to sink her teeth into its centre.

Gibbs shot one urgent look towards the top of the bed and nodded.

He chose not to think of how much this was going to hurt her as he angled the knife and lowered it to her thigh; tuning out her suppressed mewls as he applied himself single-mindedly to the task of making a three inch incision.

No amount of bracing could have prepared her for the pain, and she focused on being grateful that his corps training meant he would pull this off in one deft stroke. Part of her wished she would pass out – but that would mean leaving Jethro to face this alone, and she couldn't do that to him. Not after what she'd seen in his eyes. Not when he hadn't wanted to do this. She bit down harder on the leather between her teeth instead; trying to remain as still as she possibly could despite the tremors wracking her body. Beads of sweat popped out on her brow as Gibbs rotated the knife in an attempt to lever the bullet out, and just as she thought her heart might give out, he created another layer of agony by inserting two gloved fingers into her leg.

She screwed her eyes shut tight and struggled against the scream building up inside her.

"Got it," he said suddenly, his voice steely. The words accompanied by the sharp grating of metal against metal as he dropped the bullet into a bowl on the table.

Jen tried to prop herself up on her elbows but found she couldn't sustain herself.

"I'm sorry, Jenny ..."

It took her a moment to realise what he was apologizing for – and when she did she drew in a few loud desperate breaths through her nose and pressed her body deep into the mattress.

It was clear she hadn't realised this was going to be necessary, Gibbs thought to himself as he lit the candle again and rotated the blade in its flame. But there was no choice. A pressure dressing would be ineffective now.

The only way to stop the fresh bleeding was to cauterize the wound.

As he seared the blood vessels, the smell of scorched flesh wrapped itself around him. It made bile rise in his throat, and it took all of his willpower to hold the knife in place for the necessary ten seconds. Her body shuddered, and he wasn't surprised to discover that she'd finally passed out. He breathed a sigh of relief as he placed the knife on the table and examined the wound. He'd managed to stop the bleeding, and all that remained was to dress the wound, bandage it up with the strips he had cut from bed linen, and make sure she was as comfortable as possible.

It wasn't until he was washing up that he realized his hands were shaking.

Violently.

The bowl clattered into the sink and he leaned against the counter, feeling lightheaded and nauseous.

Cool water against his face helped somewhat, but he could feel the tug of the alcohol on the kitchen table.

Alcohol he didn't dare touch for fear of being unable to stop.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to _**4sweetdreams**_ - for the crash course on gunshot wounds, and to the wise Cap'n Renault (aka_** ltjvt1026**_).


	3. Chapter 3

_**0700 on October 20th, 1998**_

Chris Pacci didn't consider himself any kind of coward, but the moment he saw Gibbs' face he was infinitely glad he hadn't had to assist or even to watch whatever had gone on here.

"Get any sleep?" he asked as Gibbs offered him a cup of coffee.

"Some," Gibbs replied. "Anything happen last night?"

"Just a coupla kids from the village making out," Pacci answered with a small shrug.

He didn't dare ask how it had gone here. In the few hours since he'd seen him last, Gibbs looked at though he'd aged about ten years.

"How is she?" he asked instead.

Gibbs scrubbed his face with both hands and then grabbed his gun off the counter.

"Sleeping. Woke up at three. Gave her something from the box. Should be out for a while."

"Anything I need to do?"

"Make sure you get some food into her when she wakes up." When Pacci nodded he looked at his watch. "How's Callen holding up?"

The agent grinned.

"Kid's like one of those wind-up toys. He'll keep going till he runs out of steam. He's good for a few more hours."

Gibbs nodded. "I'll send him at one o'clock. We'll move to six hour shifts for today. Get some rest while you can," he added as he headed for the door.

When he had gone Pacci popped his head round the bedroom door. The coppery smell of blood hung in the room, but the bed was completely covered, and Jenny looked as though she was sleeping peacefully. He left the door ajar as he went into the room next door and stretched out on the bed.

He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

_**1100**_

"_Helloooo_. Room Service .."

The voice drifted into his consciousness and for a moment Pacci thought it was part of his dream.

But then it came again, accompanied by a sharp rapping sound.

"Room Service. _Helloooo _.."

He opened his eyes and realized that it was Jenny.

"Hey .." he said as he walked into her room

Jen froze, and from the flush down her neck it was obvious she had been expecting someone else.

"I take it you've domesticated Gibbs?" he said with a grin as he pulled a chair up to the bed.

She had the good grace to flush even brighter red – but Pacci pretended not to notice.

"Want something to drink?" he asked, nodding at the empty glass on the bedstand.

Jen sucked in a deep breath as soon as he left the room, and castigated herself. She should have known Jethro would be gone.

"I should really get a picture of you like that for Burley and the folks back home," Pacci called from the kitchen.

"You wouldn't dare ..." she hissed at him as he walked back into the room.

Pacci laughed wickedly.

"We'll have to start calling you _Supergirl_."

"Just call me Clover," she said as she struggled to sit up.

"Huh?" he said as he moved to help her.

"Gibbs branded me. Like a cow," she said as she raised the covers gingerly and gave them both a glimpse of her bandaged leg.

Pacci's eyes widened as he realized what she meant.

"I passed out," she assured him as she laid the covers back down.

"How's it feeling?"

Jen grimaced.

"Hurts."

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Twenty-one!"

Pacci winced.

"You need to eat," he said.

"I don't know if I can keep anything down," she said honestly.

"Only one way to find out."

Jen rolled her eyes.

* * *

_**1325**_

Jen groaned as the pain in her leg woke her up.

What the hell had she been thinking?

Clearly she hadn't.

She looked over at the bedside table and fluttered her lips in annoyance as her eyes fell on the empty glass.

She knew better than to let herself become dehydrated, but at the same time she hated being unable to take care of herself.

"Chris .." she called softly. Softly enough that he wouldn't hear her if was he fast asleep in the next room.

"You called, ma'am?"

Callen stood ramrod stiff in the doorway, a tea towel draped over one arm and a garish green plastic tray held aloft in the other.

"I am under strict instructions to wait on you hand and foot," he said cheerfully.

"That's right, make fun of the invalid," she said in mock annoyance.

"Water?" he asked as he caught sight of the empty glass. When she nodded he picked it off the stand. "Found some Schnapps in the kitchen. Want me to spike it?" he asked as he turned to leave.

The images came in rapid succession, despite her best efforts to block them.

The sharp and sour taste which the bourbon had been unable to mask still clung to the back of her throat; the exemplification of pain and fear.

"Jen?"

She stared at him through eyes she knew were wide and glassy, and reined herself in.

"No thanks," she said with a wan smile. "What time did you come in?" she asked when he returned.

"Twenty minutes ago," he said as he stifled a yawn.

"Then get some sleep," she said as took a sip of the water and placed it on the bed stand.

"Eh .. no. There's the whole hand and foot thing," he teased. "I have my orders, you know."

"Who's the senior field agent here?" She rested her hands on her hips, eliciting a snort from Callen. "I outrank you."

"You don't outrank Pacci."

For a moment she wondered what Pacci had told him, and then realized he was teasing her.

"_Don't make me get out of this bed_."

Callen shook with silent laughter at the baseless threat.

"The door is _there_, _probie_," she said threateningly as she waved her hand in its general direction.

The young agent threw his hands up in mock despair, but was serious when he spoke.

"You'll call me if you need me?"

"It's going to be a long night, Callen. How's the shift working out?"

"We're down to six hours. Gibbs is coming back here at seven to get some rest."

She almost smiled at the thought of seeing him.

"So you have five hours. Shoo!"

"If you're sure."

"_Bye_," she said emphatically.

* * *

_**The farmhouse / The house in the village**_

_**1855**_

For the past eleven-odd hours he'd focused on the mission, because being taken out by a round to the head courtesy of his Russian counterpart wasn't on the cards. But now he was due for downtime, if he could even call it such a thing, and his thoughts settled firmly back on the woman he'd left sleeping - and whether he was letting what he felt for her interfere with how he was conducting the op.

He wondered again if he'd made the right call in removing the bullet.

Whether she'd tell him if she was in pain.

The last mile seemed endless.

Callen was sitting just inside the front door when he got in.

"How'd it go?" he asked as he stepped over him.

"Okay. Lights are off but I think she might be awake," the young agent replied.

"I'll switch with Pacci later," Gibbs said as he started to walk down the corridor.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror after he'd washed his hands. He washed and dried his face vigorously with a towel, his attempt at keeping his exhaustion from Jen, before heading towards the bedroom.

"Jethro."

Even in pitch darkness there was no doubt that he was the person crouching by her bedside - and she reached out for him as he snapped on the lamp.

"You okay?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a kiss to the palm caressing his face.

"I'm fine," she said as she pulled him close and buried her face in his neck.

She wasn't sure how to tell him she'd missed him; wasn't even sure she should.

Or that she'd been worried about him in her waking hours.

Worried that what she'd made him do had hurt him.

Perhaps even hurt what they had.

He looked haggard and tired, as though the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, and all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

It took her a while to realize that he was hedging.

"Need to check your leg," he said slowly.

"Okay." She settled back and helped move the covers aside.

Gibbs undid the bandage and raised the gauze beneath it gingerly. He released a shaky breath as he came to the conclusion that the wound was doing fine. It was red around the edges, but that was to be expected. He considered changing the gauze; but there had only been four in the package and, since there was no drainage, he decided it would be best not to mess around.

"You're good," he said as he bandaged her thigh up again.

She cut him off just as he opened his mouth to speak again.

"When are you going back out there?"

"At two."

"Then you need to get some sleep."

He felt a minute amount of the stress fall off him as she placed her hands on his shoulders and rubbed them. "Go back to sleep, Jen," he said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Next to me, Jethro," she said as she slipped her hands under the hem of his sweatshirt and pushed the clothing upwards.

He placed his hands over hers, and just from the way he looked at her she knew she wasn't going to like what he was going to say.

"You haven't emptied your bladder in over twenty-four hours," he said. "Last time you hit the head was before -"

He trailed off as a flush crept across her cheeks. She didn't want to be reminded of how embarassing _that_ had been. Even if they'd waited for Callen to leave.

Now it would be infinitely worse because she was sure she didn't have the mobility to deal with clean up.

"I don't need to go."

"Jen .." He eyed her suspiciously.

"l'll let you know if I do. How's that?"

Gibbs looked at her for a long moment and then switched off the light. He stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and settled himself into the nearby armchair.

"Next to me, Jethro," she repeated.

"You need to sleep comfortably, Jen. So that your body can rest and heal up."

"At risk of sounding ungrateful, I'm _not_ the one who needs to rest, Jethro," she said with a small laugh.

There didn't seem to be much point in telling that he'd rest when he was sure she was going to be okay.

"I'll rest just fine here."

"On that chair .." she said mockingly as she settled back down.

She could feel her small store of energy dissipate and wanted him close; needed contact with him that spoke of comfort, not aggression.

"There's enough room in the bed for both of us, Jethro," she said as she moved over with difficulty.

Gibbs looked at her for a long moment, seeing the need he felt for closeness reflected back at him.

He chose not to fight it. Without a word he moved into the depression she had made in the mattress. He lay on his side, propped up on an elbow.

The feel of her trembling slightly as he wrapped an arm around her waist was almost his undoing, but her head fell against his shoulder immediately.

He raised his hand. Running it through her hair as he kept vigil.

Counting the minutes in his head until he felt her drift off again.

"I've got you," he murmured against her skin as he pressed a kiss to her temple.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's note:  
**_

Thanks to _**honeydust** f_or catching the slip up in yesterday's chapter. All fixed now.

* * *

_**October 21st, 1998**_

_**0311**_

Jen shivered and rooted around for the blanket. She snapped the light on and peered at the clock. If it was almost half past three in the afternoon there was no reason for the room to be dark. She registered that the heavy curtains were drawn, but as she strained her ears her anxiety increased. The house was eerily silent, and she knew somewhere in herself that something had gone wrong.

Instinctively she tried to throw her legs over the side of the bed.

Pain ricocheted through her, and she shivered again. A lot more violently now that she'd uncovered herself. It took her a moment to realize that despite the fact that she was cold, she was warm to the touch.

She looked at the clock again, and realized that it wasn't afternoon at all.

It was the dead of night.

The realization that her leg was hurting a lot more was not a welcome one, and she reached for the water glass on the bedside table with a silent curse. The last two acetaminophen tablets lay next to it, and she scooped them up as well. She considered calling Chris, but figured that there was no reason to involve him. He'd checked in on her after Jethro had gone, and she'd pretended to be asleep so that he wouldn't feel he had to keep her company. He'd been out in the field for a long time; in conditions that had been less than ideal. He needed his rest. She washed the pills down and settled back down; feeling ridiculously grateful as she felt the tug of sleep again.

She didn't want to think of the others still out there.

* * *

_**The farmhouse on the outskirts of Babice**_

_**0350**_

He didn't mind the cooped up conditions. Nor did he mind the silence. But the vibes the man beside him was giving off were strong.

Even though he couldn't see his face, he'd been around him long enough to recognize that something was bothering Gibbs' gut.

There was an intensity to him that transcended darkness and became almost an entity unto itself, and the young agent felt the prickle of anxiety at the base of his neck.

They had been conditioned into following his lead without question, but Callen enjoyed matching own instincts against those of his mentor. And there was no question that something didn't feel right about the fact that the package hadn't been picked up.

It hadn't taken much to determine that there were diamonds inside. They had no way of knowing what the payment was for, but one thing was clear. The people concerned were trying to avoiding the creation of a money trail. The disparity was disconcerting however. The intel Petrov's contact had passed along had been pretty straightforward, and ten minutes to four in the morning didn't quite equate with _sometime after midnight._ Either something had gone wrong or something they weren't expecting was going to go down.

As he shifted slightly off the dank earth soiling his clothes, he could only hope it wasn't going to be both.

* * *

_**The house in the village**_

_**0400**_

The sound of glass breaking made Pacci reach for the gun under his pillow.

"Jen?" he whispered behind her door when he found nothing out of the ordinary inside the house.

The light was on, so he assumed she might be awake, and a muffled sound from inside the room encouraged him to enter.

"Did you .."

He trailed off when he saw the remnants of the water glass on the floor, and it only took one look at her to recognise that they were in trouble.

"Jen?" He dropped his weapon on the bedside table as he toed shards of glass out of the way.

Her face was flushed.

Pacci took a deep breath and lowered a hand to her forehead - finding it dry to the touch and a lot hotter than he was comfortable with. He ran a hand across his face and tried again.

"Jen ..."

Her eyes, dull and glassy, opened slowly – and then lit up.

The voice seemed to be coming from far away, but as she opened her eyes a figure swam into view.

She wasn't sure how this was possible. But there had to be an explanation because he was standing right there, so she raised a shaky hand out to him.

"_Dad?_"

"Jen it's me, Pacci. It's Chris."

The smile faded, and for a moment he wished he could let her have her illusion – whatever that might be. But there was no doubt that she was running a very high fever; just as there was no doubt where it was coming from. He tugged at the covers. Her leg looked a lot more swollen than the last time he'd seen it, which panicked him slightly. She whimpered as he started to take the bandage apart, and clearly tried to move away from him.

"It's okay. I just need to check your leg," he said softly. Trying to imbue his voice with as much gentleness as he could.

He lifted the gauze and sucked in a breath at the sight of the incision Gibbs had made. It was bright red around the edges, and draining somewhat. He looked at her face. For a moment he thought he saw recognition in her eyes – and then suddenly it was gone again.

"I'm going to have to change the dressing, Jen," he said slowly.

As he went about the process, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

The gauze was stuck to the wound in part – making it difficult to remove. Her breathing sounded shallow. Almost as though she were bracing for great pain; making him wonder all over again just how bad the battlefield surgery had been. What alarmed him more, though, was the fact that she wasn't sweating – despite shivering profusely. Not quite sure what to do about the gauze, he chose merely to placed another piece on top of the one already there.

"I'm done," he said as he bandaged her thigh up again and covered her.

He busied himself with picking up the pieces of glass and disposing of them. He looked inside the freezer, hoping to find some ice cubes. There were none, but the compartment badly needed to be defrosted. So he used a serrated knife to break off some pieces of ice; tossing them in one of the rubber gloves from the first aid kit. Jen moved restlessly as he tried to cool her down – mumbling all sorts of things that he had no inkling about. He tried listening for a while, but when the verbiage extended to random chatter in French about frogs and what sounded like a brand of Russian vodka, he found he was out of his league.

"C-cold," she stammered as she shivered helplessly.

"I'll get you another blanket," he said. Leaving the room to retrieve the ones from his own bed. "Here," he said as he raised her up slightly and wrapped one of them around her shoulders.

He wasn't expecting the brush to his groin.

"You owe me, Jethro," she said in a voice so low and husky that there was no room left for interpretation.

Pacci felt his face suffuse with heat, but he tucked the blankets more tightly around her and said nothing. Merely pulled a chair up to the bed and kept watch over her. Giving her his hand when she reached for it.

Twenty minutes passed by. Then half an hour. It seemed to Pacci that she was becoming more and more agitated. By quarter to five he was pacing; looking at the satellite phone that Gibbs had left behind in case of emergency with indecision churning in his stomach. Gibbs and Callen should have been back by now. He didn't want to think of what the fact that they weren't could potentially mean, but his mind provided all sorts of macabre scenarios anyway.

By five he was verging on desperation.

Jen's shaking was becoming more and more pronounced - forcing him to crouch by her bedside.

"Jen, I'm calling for an extraction."

"_Jethro?_" she said through clenched teeth.

"I'm here, Jen."

She stared blindly at him and he realized that she had no idea that he wasn't Gibbs.

"No team. Ju-just k-keep me warm, J-Jethro. I'm c-cold."

Her hand snuck out and grabbed his. Hard. Pacci ran a hand over his face again – torn between giving her what she wanted and doing the right thing. His hand was inching towards the phone when he heard the front door open.

"What took you so long?" he snapped as Callen appeared in the doorway. "And where the hell's Gibbs?"

"Gibbs is still out there."

"Pick up was supposed to be hours a-"

"The pick up never took place," Callen explained. "I've come to relieve you."

"_Jethro ..._"

His eyes fell on the bed and then snapped to Pacci's, but the man was busy punching numbers into the satellite phone.

"We need to get her out of here _now_. If she goes septic she'll die. I'm calling Decker."

Callen took one more look at Jenny's quivering form, turned on his heel, and ran.

Twenty-five minutes later Gibbs was standing where Callen had been. Jenny was no less agitated than the young agent had reported, but the strength of her grip still managed to surprise him.

"_Jethro,_" she croaked as she grabbed him by the shirt. "Please don't leave me."

"I need you to settle down, Jen," he said. "I need to take a look again."

The wave of fear that ran through him as he assessed the situation and realized what he was going to have to do made him break out into a cold sweat.

"Chris ..." he started to say as he reached the doorway.

There was understanding in Pacci's eyes when he turned. Fuelled by the fact that Gibbs rarely addressed anyone by name. His eyes went straight to Jenny, but he did Gibbs the courtesy of looking him in the eye before nodding.

They didn't need words to communicate that whatever Pacci had gleaned needed to stay with him.

A few minutes later Gibbs reached into a nearby bowl and moistened the corner of a towel.

Slowly and carefully he saturated the old dressing with water – pulling it from the wound as soon as it became dislodged.

He closed his eyes against the sight of the wound. It was closed, but angry, red, and weeping.

Swallowing hard he put his hand next to it.

The skin wobbled under his fingertips – betraying the fluid trapped within.

Without a word he stood up and walked out of the bedroom.

It only dawned on Pacci what was going to happen when Gibbs walked back in, placed another bowl full of water on the table, and brought out his knife. Part of him wanted to bolt – through the window if necessary - but he willed himself to stand his ground.

With difficulty.

The _scritching_ sound made Jen turn her head sharply, but it was the smell of sulphur that set off the images in her head.

A hundred representations of pain and fear. One after the other; blending together like a magic lantern show.

"Jenny ..." He tried to reach for her.

He could see her whimpered "_no_" threaten to turn into a scream, but he had no choice but to open the wound and drain it.

"I'll be quick," he said as he rotated the knife's blade in the candle's flame. Hoping he was getting through to her.

He took a deep breath and blew out the candle. His eyes snapped to Pacci's as her breathing sharpened and she scrambled senselessly to get as far away from him as she could.

"_Hold her down!_"

Pacci thought he might throw up as he put what weight he dared onto her, but try as he might he couldn't look away. Gibbs angled the knife and cut into the wound from the bottom. A viscous dark yellow liquid splattered onto his hand; its foul and musty smell all the confirmation he needed that Jen had contracted a serious infection.

Chris took one look at the liquid draining from the wound and ran out of the room.

Gibbs heard him empty the contents of his stomach moments later.

With a heavy heart he pulled the last two pieces of gauze from the first aid kit. He soaked them in the saline solution he'd made and placed them on the wound. It was the best he could do until she got proper medical care. The salt would start to draw the infection from the wound as the wet dressing dried, and whatever they gave her at the hospital would take care of the rest.

When he had bandaged her leg he allowed himself to look at her again.

Her head moved restlessly on the pillow as he placed a hand on her forehead, but it was clear that her fever-ridden body was exhausted. Almost impercetible movement of her mouth told him she was trying to moisten her lips. He tipped some water onto a face cloth and set it aside as he undressed. As he got into bed beside her, the heat she was radiating was painful – but not as painful as the fact that she tried to shift away from him.

Her eyes opened, and drooped almost immediately, but she stopped moving when he dabbed at her lips and her face with the facecloth.

"Jenny .."

She shifted minutely. But this time it was _towards_ the sound of his voice.

He felt something loosen inside as he allowed himself the comfort of running his fingers through her hair.

Thoughts that he wanted at all costs to keep at bay swirled mercilessly through his mind, debilitating him. Dark thoughts of death and loss; memories of happy times stripped away from him in a heartbeat. The fear of losing her to something _he_ had set in motion.

It was a hell of a time to realise that he was in over his head.


	5. Chapter 5

_**The house in Babice**_

_**1500**_

Pacci walked into Jen's bedroom and stared forlornly at the bed; wondering where she'd been taken and how she was doing.

The mattress had been stripped bare, but faded red patches were still drying out in a few places.

In his mind's eye he saw Gibbs scrubbing furiously at them; trying to eliminate all traces of what had gone on here. He hadn't succeeded with the mattress and somehow Pacci doubted he'd succeed with himself either.

Chris leant against the door jamb dejectedly and acknowledged that the house felt empty without Jenny in it.

Spiritless.

The way Gibbs had looked when he'd shown up at the farm just after seven o'clock.

He'd sent Callen back to the house and settled into the hide without another word, but after what he'd seen transpire between them, Pacci couldn't even begin to imagine what it had cost him to hand Jen over to the extraction team.

The blankets had been laid neatly over the chair he'd kept vigil on, but as he looked at them he realized that he didn't want to sleep in the other room. Even as he recognized that he was being maudlin, the feeling that sleeping elsewhere would mean giving up on her wouldn't leave him - so he pulled a blanket from the chair and lay down on the bed. Some of the smell that had permeated the room for the past day or so still lingered, but in its way it brought him comfort.

His last conscious thought was of Gibbs.

He knew what he'd seen in his demeanour.

In his eyes.

He had looked out for Jenny as he would no doubt look out for any of them; but lines had been crossed and he couldn't help but wonder what the fallout would be.

And who would bear the brunt of it.

* * *

_**The farmhouse on the outskirts of Babice**_

_**1630**_

Relegating Jen to secondary importance was still necessary, but significantly harder to do now.

Darkness was falling rapidly again – and with it the acknowledgement that time was running out.

Gibbs' mind replayed the conversation with Decker as he sought to focus on the mission again. He'd asked for another twenty-four hours of surveillance time, and could only hope that the pick up would take place within that time frame.

"Gibbs .." Callen whispered, camera at the ready.

A car pulled up, its motor a gentle purr. Even in the fading light of day Gibbs knew that something was off as two men stepped out. One man was clearly covering the other - but this wasn't the man he was after.

Snipers didn't operate out in the open like this.

"Where is he?" the larger of the men asked as they approached what was left of the farmhouse cautiously.

"Damn kids," his companion said, swearing loudly into the air when they realised that Vassily was nowhere to be found. I

The first man reached into the designated spot and pulled out the package. His companion thanked him as he took it from him and sliced into it with a pocket knife. The first man looked round the farm suspiciously as the second man tipped a few of the diamonds into his palm.

He was clearly uneasy about things. Eager to leave.

"I'll kill that kid with my own hands," he muttered.

_Good luck with that_, Callen thought with a sardonic grin.

* * *

_**Nemocnice Na Homolce, Prague**_

_**October 22nd, 1998**_

_**0830**_

As they'd feared, Jenny had turned septic.

Callen had been able to find out that she'd been started on a three day round the clock course of intravenous antibiotics, but was being kept sedated to make sure that the body got the rest it needed as it fought the infection.

Gibbs hated that they wouldn't be able to speak to her, but with the mission a wrap they could now focus on making sure she got the treatment she needed.

Or so he thought as he let himself into her room.

He stopped short; the blood in his ears pounding harder when he saw Decker sitting by the bed, a hand lying on the covers just brushing Jen's.

"Decker," he acknowledged coolly as Pacci and Callen trailed in after him.

The man got to his feet slowly, his body language radiating hostility.

He picked up a folder and walked past the team.

"A word outside please, Agent Gibbs," he said slowly.

"You're a long way from Naples," Gibbs said as they stepped into an empty room down the corridor.

Decker didn't deign to respond. He simply motioned for him to sit down as opened the folder.

"Akim Andropov," he said as he slid Callen's sketch and a mug shot across the table.

Gibbs recognised the man from the drop off.

"Russian mafia." Decker's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Extortion and protection rackets, arms and drug trafficking. You name it, they're doing it. Prague's a major base for the gangs. Seventy percent of the drugs entering Germany transit here .."

Gibbs tuned him out; the anger that had been simmering for days starting to rise as he acknowledged that Decker was right.

"You've been _had_, Gibbs," Decker said derisively. "They _know_ you're onto them."

Gibbs felt the bile rise in his throat. He had no doubt that the ring had copped onto the fact that they were onto them and had attempted to throw them off the trail by causing confusion. He was grappling with the fact that he should have understood this twenty-four hours earlier, when he realized that Decker was still talking.

"We're re-evaluating our approach."

"_We?_"

Gibbs' eyes narrowed, but Decker stared back at him.

Not in the least intimidated.

"I'm the _messenger_, Gibbs. Here to tell you that you are to report back to Naples, where an investigation is being launched into this op."

"I'm not leaving a member of my team behind."

"You almost got her _killed_, Jethro." Decker's voice rose unexpectedly, and a picture started to form in Gibbs' head that he didn't like at all. But Decker was clearly on a roll. "You acquired bad intel, you - "

"We get bad intel all the time," Gibbs interrupted, conscious of the fact that his voice was rising as well.

"I told you before you came out here that this didn't feel right. But the story is always the same with you. It's _your_ way or the highway. Well this time you got lucky. But what about next time? Or the time after _that_?"

"There are risks every time we go out into the field. You know that, s_he _knows that. So does _every_ member of _every_ team."

"This was a waste of time and an even _bigger_ waste of resources."

It took Gibbs a moment to realize what he was saying, but before he could come up with an appropriate response Decker was on the attack again.

"She should be doing better things than indulging your delusions. There are those who believe she's _ready_ for better."

"_The hell she is_," Gibbs growled.

The words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"You're holding her back." There was accusation in his tone.

The knowledge that this had become personal and that Decker was playing office politics hit Gibbs all at once.

"We're done here," he said as he stood abruptly from his seat.

"No, _you_ are done here," Decker said as he stood himself and slapped a folder against Gibbs' chest. "Transport is standing by to take you, Pacci, and Callen back to Naples."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's note:  
**_

_**Colonel-General Dimitri Borov**_ – the Russian General Jenny visited in the season four episode, _Trojan Horse__**.**_

_**Gricignano – **_the site of the Navy Support Site located in the _Greater Naples Area_. Construction started in February of 1996.

* * *

_**The lobby of the Hotel Bega, Moscow**_

_**November 9th, 1998**_

_**2030**_

Jenny took out her aggravation on the push buttons on the pay phone.

The afternoon's attempt to see Colonel-General Borov had been a complete bust.

She hadn't even made it past the gate this time!

She bowed her head against the phone as the call went through; anger morphing into that familiar feeling that she wasn't getting anywhere.

Whatever she did, whatever avenue she pursued, she came up against a brick wall. It was as frustrating as the proverbial glass ceiling. And with each dead end, with each failure, the perception that she was letting her father down took shape.

The phone at the other end rang and rang, and she released a grateful breath. She was in no mood to talk to Decker at the moment. He'd left a message on her phone a few hours earlier; asking her to call back. As she replaced the phone she considered calling Jethro. She'd been very careful to call him herself since she'd been released from the hospital in Prague a few days earlier.

Always at home. Always late at night.

He'd seemed to accept her statement that she was convalescing at the home of a friend of the family outside Prague. But their conversations were brief, and fraught with tension. Tension she attributed on her part to the fact that she was far from the suburbs of Prague, and on his part to the fact that an _Officer in shooting_ inquiry was ongoing _and_ that he was blaming himself for what had happened to her.

She started to punch in the numbers and then stopped.

As much as she wanted to hear his voice, he would pick up on her frustration. She hated keeping secrets from him like this – although she often felt that he had plenty of his own. She knew what his line of work had been before joining the agency, so she was sure she wasn't wrong about that, but she had no idea whether anything had ever weighed on him like this did on her.

She found herself wanting to tell him everything sometimes. But she had nothing to support her theory, and it was clear he didn't take her gut seriously.

She wasn't ready to risk losing her integrity in his eyes.

And anyway, the only way she was going to get to the bottom of things was through the fruit of her _own_ labour.

This was _her_ crusade.

She raised her hand and punched in the number to Decker's apartment one more time.

He answered on the second ring.

She navigated past the small talk, and felt anger bubble up within her as he told her why she needed to cut her holiday short.

As she headed back to her room to pack a few minutes later she struggled against the urge to call Jethro and demand to know why he hadn't told her that he had come under investigation personally.

* * *

_**Naples Field Office**_

_**November 11th, 1998**_

_**0950**_

The _Shooting Board_ inquiry had been pretty much what she'd expected.

Plain sailing.

The JAG lawyer and the other four people on the board had been personable enough; pretty much content to hear the oral version of the statement she'd faxed from the hospital.

The inquiry into Gibbs' conduct, on the other hand, had had a completely different feel to it. The fact that her stay in Russia had been cut short because one of the people assigned this task wanted to go on vacation himself had done nothing to endear the people in the room to her.

_How was the intel obtained? Was the source credible? Was everything done to maintain operational security?_

She'd answered to the best of her ability – but it wasn't until the standard questions segued to other matters that she'd realized that this wasn't just an inquiry.

It was a witch hunt.

She'd sat up straighter, and she was sure the two men in front of her hadn't missed the fact that her voice had become a little colder.

Even though she'd realised that she could be treading on thin ice, she wasn't about to sit by and let them rip Gibbs apart, even by inference. She had _earned_ the right to disagree with the way he occasionally did things. They knew _nothing_ about him, and consequently were entitled to _no_ opinions. He was too damn good at what he did for his career to be derailed by suits who had never been in the field and who did things by the book.

She'd recognized that her testimony was crucial, and had taken great pleasure in thwarting every one of their attempts to compromise Gibbs.

Discovering in the process that she liked it.

As she ambled down the corridor in search of coffee, later, she wondered what it was going to cost her.

"Hey ..."

She didn't see him until she walked straight into his chest.

"How'd it go?"

The thought that he might have had a hand in all of this in some way ran through her mind like wildfire. but she immediately concluded that letting him see her suspicion would help nobody.

"They didn't hold up score cards," she said with a shrug and a small smile. "Seen my team anywhere?"

"Call out," Decker replied. "Body found in a dumpster at the construction site in _Gricignano._ Second one this week. "

"Okay."

"Hey ..." he said as she started to walk away. "I'm glad you're back."

Jenny smiled.

"Can't wait to get back to work."

Something that she couldn't quite identify flashed across Decker's face, but before she could try he said, "maybe we can catch that drink once you – hang on .."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

"I'll leave you to it," Jen whispered as it became clear that it wasn't as trivial a phone call as he'd been hoping.

"_Later_ ..." he mouthed at her before walking back into his office and closing the door.

Jenny shook the irritation from her shoulders as she resumed her trek towards the squad room. It was fairly quiet as she walked in. She exchanged greetings with the few agents sitting at their desk and had just swung her handbag onto her own when she realized that something was wrong with the picture. She walked slowly round to the other side - and suddenly Jethro's evasiveness when she'd asked about the boys over the phone made complete sense.

She was still reeling when a shadow fell across the desk.

"Leon," the man said as he extended a hand in this direction. "Leon Vance. You must be Jenny. I'm the -"

"This _yours_, Leon?" she asked, pointing at a toothpick and its plastic sleeve lying at the edge of the desk.

"Hope you didn't prick yourself on it," he said with a trace of amusement in his voice.

"This is _my_ desk." Her voice betrayed no emotion, but her eyes never left those of the man in front of her.

"Jen!"

She looked up to find Pacci and Callen flanking Vance with broad smiles on their faces.

"You're back early!"

Callen sounded almost giddy, and it made her stomach turn. She found she couldn't look at them. She'd spoken to both of them over the past two and a half weeks, and neither one of them had thought to tell her she'd been booted from the team.

"There's an inquiry into your boss. Or haven't you heard?" she said as she threaded her handbag over her arm and headed for the door. "I'm still officially on vacation. Back on Monday."

She walked away slowly. Careful not to appear as though she were storming off or making a scene.

"Jenny!" Calhoun walked in just as she reached for the handle. "What's wrong with _her_?" he asked as she brushed past without acknowledging him. His gaze fell on Vance."You piss her off already?"

"Guess she didn't get the memo," the man replied.

Calhoun looked over at him and smirked.

"Well then, since this is your fault _you're_ buying tonight."

"That's the way it goes round here, huh?" Vance chuckled as he settled behind his desk.

"Yes Siree. That's the way it goes."

"Good to know."

"And tomorrow night, my place," Calhoun said as he settled behind his own. "Homecoming for Jenny. Maybe she'll forgive you miserable bastards for not doing what you were supposed to, and things can get back to normal round here. It's been a long two and a half weeks." He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat. Eyes closed and an appreciative smile on his face. "Hoo-boy. Jenny and the pencil skirts are back in the building. Life is _good_."

She barrelled by so fast that he wasn't even sure she'd seen him. But clearly something was wrong, and Gibbs changed directions instantly. He had yet to understand how she could walk at all in the kind of heels she favoured; let alone move so damn fast.

She was almost out of the building by the time he caught up with her.

"Jen ..."

When she looked up at him her eyes held none of their usual warmth.

"What happened in there?"

She looked disoriented and he could think of only one reason why she was back a few days early. For a moment he thought that she might have been grilled by the _Internal Affairs_ committee, but he dismissed that idea as soon as she made to move past him. Feeling a flash of irritation at this kind of reception when he hadn't seen her in almost three weeks, he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her into a nearby room.

"What's going on?"

"You tell me," she said.

Her voice had taken on a tone he wasn't used to hearing, and it took him a moment to reach awareness.

"This about Leon?" he asked cautiously.

"I would have appreciated a heads up, Gibbs."

"Didn't think it was going to be such a big deal."

"_You didn't think it was going to be such a big deal?_" she echoed incredulously. "I come back to find out I've been _replaced_ and you _didn't think it was going to be such a big deal_?"

Gibbs's forehead furrowed, and then he shook his head.

"You haven't been replaced."

"So what's Leon Vance doing in my seat? Keeping it warm?"

"You're getting a _new_ seat. And a new _desk_. You weren't supposed to be coming back till Monday. Pacci and Callen have been putting the move off. Damn thing weighs a ton."

She relaxed fractionally and slumped against the wall; all the fight suddenly gone out of her.

"It isn't funny, Jethro," she said when a small smile spread across his face.

"It is to me. Kinda."

"I just made a fool of myself in the squad room."

"With whom? Toothpick boy?"

"I told him it was _my_ desk."

"So buy him a drink later," he said dismissively.

"You should have told me."

Gibbs angled his head and resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

It had never occurred to him to interrupt her vacation with the news that someone was being added to the team. He'd figured it made more sense to let her rest up and give her a surprise in the form of a new desk than risk making her paranoid about the status quo.

Clearly he'd learned nothing from his last two marriages.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's note:**_

A small note for **Gee**. In response to your review, I don't have anything about Callen's search for his roots in subsequent stories .. but if I get the opportunity to put anything in, I will. Thank you for the very nice review, by the way. And thanks to everyone else as well.

* * *

_**Gibbs' apartment, that evening ...**_

Things were awkward.

There was no other way to describe it.

Jen watched him surreptitiously; picking at her food as she fought the fear that they'd become strangers in the two-odd weeks they'd been apart.

Memories chased each other around inside her head and she felt anger rising.

Anger at herself - for not having the courage to call him on the fact that they were walking on eggshells around each other and that she wanted it to stop. Anger at him for dismissing their earlier spat as amusing; for not caring that his lack of foresight had made her look ridiculous.

She reached for her wine glass and found him staring at her.

He watched her intently for a while, and the fear that what she'd made him do had already taken its toll paralyzed her. He was radiating something that she couldn't quite fathom and suddenly she realized that she had no idea what he was thinking.

That she'd lost her capacity to read him.

"Got something for you," he said as he stood abruptly from the table and walked down the corridor to the bedroom.

He returned a few moments later with something held tightly in his fist.

She held his gaze, and all of a sudden realized what it was he was broadcasting.

He was nervous.

Unsure, even.

About whatever it was he was about to give her.

She sucked in a breath as he unfurled his palm. A thin gold chain dangled from his index finger – and at the bottom swung a flattened piece of metal. She reached out for it slowly. Letting the metal sit on her palm.

A curious mixture of feelings ran through her, and she smiled when she realised what it was.

"Did it feel good?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his own mouth as he let himself relive the catharsis of hammering the bullet.

"Had someone at the workshop drill the hole," he explained – not feeling the need to add that he'd braved a jeweller's for the chain.

Jen wrapped her hair around her hand and piled it on top of her head.

In what was almost an epiphany she saw the rudimentary necklace for what it was.

He'd taken the horror that bound them and fashioned out of it something to remind her what she was worth.

A symbol of his pride.

She struggled to find her voice as he held it out to her.

"_You_ put it on me," she whispered hoarsely.

She didn't realise pent up emotions were crippling him as well until she felt his fingers falter against her neck. She tried to say his name but couldn't; finding it easier to close her eyes against the sound of his breath in her left ear as he wrapped a hand around hers and pried it open.

He buried his face in the hair that tumbled over her shoulders; inhaling its scent as his other hand came to rest gently upon her shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Nudging her affectionately before he placed a palm to her cheek and turned her face towards him.

The look in his eyes was so intense that she almost wanted to close hers, but he beat her to it as he put a hand to the back of her head and diminished the distance between them. His free hand drifted along her body as he turned her completely towards him; fingertips gliding lightly across the fabric of her wrapover dress until they found the tie that held it in place and pulled it apart.

He looked at her as she stood there.

Confused about what to do. What to say.

Somewhere deep inside the desire to say something, _anything_, was strong. He wasn't just in over his head, he was drowning. In feelings for a woman who was threatening his emotional fortress. Clinging to the belief that it was impossible to say something meaningful without betraying his ghosts. Hiding behind it, even. He struggled against it in a way he never had with either one of his ex-wives – and suddenly the fact that he was categorizing her in those terms was a virtual slap upside the head.

If she suspected that the thought had occurred to him at all she'd run.

So he hid behind that too.

Choosing to hold his peace and let her draw her own conclusions.

The emotions ran across his face so fast that she was having trouble keeping up. But a new kind of fear started to well up inside her; that he would try to put into words what was happening between them.

She'd put them both through the wringer. Perhaps him more than her, because she'd exposed him to a situation where he'd had to hurt her physically. She'd challenged him; forced him to abandon his instinct to _protect_. Words would do them no good. He'd sublimated everything he felt into the necklace, even if he didn't know it, but they needed to bridge the gap the guilt had created - before it became a chasm and consumed them both.

"Jethro .."

She had no trouble enunciating his name now, and his response was so immediate that she realized that he'd actually moved before she had when his hand snuck into her open dress and came to rest on the small of her back.

His breath felt warm against the side of her face as his mouth sought hers, and she let him lead - because she could sense the need in him. He nipped at her lower lip, and as his tongue traversed it she felt wanton desire surface.

He kissed her deeply, and the desire intensified when she felt his arousal pressing firmly against her navel. As they paused to catch their breath she rested her head resting against his chest. She could hear the soft beating of his heart; rapid at first, then gradually slowing its pace as they stood in each other's embrace. Just holding each other close.

In many ways she was reminded of the intensity of their first kiss.

Marseille seemed like a lifetime ago already.

So much had happened in the space of a few weeks.

So much had changed.

He tipped her chin upwards after a while. Running the pad of his thumb over her lips. The intensity in his eyes hadn't diminished, but now there was no reason to look away. He angled his head slightly and she nodded. Letting him take her by the hand and lead her down the corridor.

There was no doubt in either of their minds that they needed the communion of slow healing if they were going to survive this.

In the semi-darkness of the bedroom he waited patiently as she draped her dress over a chair; his fingers tracing lightly up and down her arms. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face as she turned back to him, and then leaned in and kissed her. Familiar stirrings started to awaken her senses as his fingers curled in her hair, and he pulled her close as the kiss became a slow burn. She placed her hand to his knee; sliding it up his leg as their bodies move closer. His hand reciprocated, sending shivers coursing through her. He insinuated his other hand between them. Palming her bra to show her what he wanted. He cupped a breast gently as she dropped her hands from him. Squeezing it through the fabric and tweaking the nipple that rose through it.

Jen smiled and took a step backwards.

Slowly, almost teasingly, she slid the straps from her arms, and then undid the clasp.

As the bra fell away from her body, the unadulterated lust in his eyes almost made her blush.

Their mouths met again, the kissing more intense as their hands began an exploration of the other's body. She pushed his shirt over his shoulders; tugging impatiently when the sleeves snagged on his wrists. She slid a hand over his chest. Savouring the feel of the soft hair beneath her fingertips before closing her lips round one of his nipples. Enjoying the way his breath hitched and the fierceness with which he gripped her shoulders.

He pushed her onto the bed and positioned himself over her. His lips slid across her cheek; her hot breath in his ear encouraging him to rub himself against her gently. His head dropped to her shoulder as she popped the button on his jeans; his mouth leaving a damp trail down her neck. He paused only to divest himself of his clothes, and then he was back. Teasing her breasts with his tongue. Smiling when she gasped. Shifting onto his side and pressing his fingers firmly against her panties; the dampness leaching through the scrap of silk making him tighten a little more. He hooked his fingers into the waistband; kissing her for good measure as she raised herself to facilitate the removal of her underwear. A shiver surged through her as his moist lips followed the panties' descent to her ankles, and as he tossed them aside Gibbs slid his hands gently up her legs. Watching avidly as her body arched when he skimmed her inner thighs. He parted them gently and moved between them again.

On another occasion he might have drawn out the foreplay, but it wasn't warranted tonight. There was mutual understanding that they needed the closeness more than they needed the stimulation.

He murmured as she guided him inside her, and kissed him hungrily. He tucked his arms under her back as she raised her hips to meet him; savouring the feel of him spreading her inner walls as his fingers curled round her shoulders and he pulled her into him.

She clenched her muscles tightly around him.

Making him work hard to overcome the resistance; knowing that he loved it.

His thrusts increased in tempo and desperation.

Prompting her to drag her fingernails down his back until her hands rested on his ass. She winced at the pain and force behind his penetration, but matched him stroke for stroke.

Cognizant, even as her world blurred around the edges, that they were navigating the depth of their emotion.

Giving themselves over to the adrenaline - and to each other.

She held him close as the last of his orgasm rippled through him, and then pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Thank you for my necklace," she said slowly as she fingered ran the metal side to side on the chain.

Gibbs propped himself up on his elbow and wrapped his fingers around hers.

"Badge of honour," was all he said as he lowered his mouth and pressed a hard kiss to them.

* * *

**Author's note:**

I got a lot of Continuing ed., as I was writing this chapter. So renewed thanks go to **_ltjvt1026_**.


End file.
